


The Look

by Nana_41175



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: A bit of drama, Bond being an arse, Established Relationship, It's all foreplay, M/M, Q being a boss, Romance, a bit of comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: 007 find someone that looks at you the way Q...oh, never mind.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 32
Kudos: 154





	The Look

**Author’s Notes:** This is all thanks to the pic above and some fooling around in the 00Q Slack chatroom with **[Ksan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NiEtoile/pseuds/NiEtoile), [Anyawen ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyawen/pseuds/Anyawen)**and **10kiaoi** , in answer to her prompt, “an analysis of the tilt of Q's eyebrows in relation to Bond's antics.” (It didn't come out as an analysis, more like a description, ehehe). Beta read by the excellent [**Christinefromsherwood**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood). Thank you so much, darlins!! XD

Enjoy, everyone, and do let me know what you think!

* * *

Q would not have flourished in his job this long without cultivating a look to shut up the agents. In fact, he had The Look perfected and individualized to suit every troublesome double-O and to quell their particular brand of BS.

With 009, a dark, thunderous glance under sternly drawn brows usually did the trick. As for 004, a flat stare accompanied by a shake of the head, followed by a softly spoken, disappointed “no” could cut through any clever lie or argument leaving her lips. He would deign not to look at 006 at all; an ominous thinning of the mouth was enough to curdle whatever outrageous excuse 006 was industriously and desperately pulling from his arse, reducing his words to a trickle and, finally, awkward, apologetic silence as Q glared at his shattered equipment, laid out neatly on Q’s table like an autopsy specimen.

Such was the Quartermaster’s power, that he could reduce any of his seasoned agents to nervous, guilty, babbling children in front of him. And this was before he’d even think to use words.

He had them all under his thumb. All except one.

There was always going to be an exception to the rule. Someone entirely shameless and headstrong, who knew he had an advantage over the others when it came to the Quartermaster because only he knew how to truly set the man on edge.

From the start, there was something twisted about 007 in the way that he enjoyed messing with Q, annoying him to the point that no amount of dirty looks would do, that sharp words were almost always necessary to put him in his place. Bond knew that he would never be forgiven for his ability to fluster him during those early days before the tide started to turn, before the tipping point was finally reached.

Still, Bond delighted in riling him up just because he could. He would bring in his mangled weapons with all the pride of a cat setting a dead mouse in front of its owner. He would watch with satisfaction as those green eyes narrowed and grew stormy, that delectable red mouth curling in derision as he coolly baited his Quartermaster with affectionate insolence. At that point, he knew he’d succeeded in getting Q’s attention like nothing ever could. Except perhaps when they were in bed.

Then there would be words lashed at him— cutting and sarcastic put-downs that did nothing to break him; on the contrary, they would be the highlight of his day. If he worked particularly hard, he might be rewarded with rich, imaginative cursing which seemed so incongruent, coming from that beautiful mouth, couched in those elegant, cultured tones. It was the ultimate turn-on.

Watching Q now, Bond knew he had just pushed him from exasperation to quiet rage. This, he thought, might end up differently from their usual flirtations.

Yet, what was sacrificing a plane, if it meant he could escape with his life? Looking at Q, though, he knew that he was in for it. Nothing complicated a relationship more than a maelstrom of relief, anger, a sense of betrayal and hurt on Q’s part, and jealousy on his end. He knew what that plane meant to Q, on a personal level. It was his baby. So now here he was, having put said baby into the bottom of the Aegean to survive and face the wrath of his lover.

Q refused to even receive him at first, but he’d barged in anyway. In the inner bowels of Q’s lab, he’d found him contemplating a chessboard, arms crossed over his chest. He was ominously still as Bond made his case. For minutes and minutes, Q was silent, giving away nothing. The room was cooler than outside to accommodate the sensitive computers, yet Q’s deadly silence seemed to plunge the temperature further down by several degrees.

Q was dressed in his trademark style of patterned blue shirt, tie and an open cardigan that was so grandfatherly in its sensibilities that Bond would like nothing more than to tear at the clothes with his hands to reveal the slim, youthful body encased within. His clothing choice was quite deliberate in its intention to unsettle and offend, and Bond knew it.

Following Bond’s impassioned words, Q had merely tilted his body to the side, as though he were hard of hearing. Tension coiled in every seemingly insouciant line there. His face was a mask, maddeningly blank, polite. Unimpressed. But he was giving Bond The Look, designed especially to convey his great displeasure. Bond knew by the raised eyebrows and the slightly widened eyes— deceptively mild for anyone who could not read the Quartermaster well— that Q was going to make him work hard for his forgiveness.

In a way, The Look was a small victory for Bond. Despite everything, he’d managed to touch Q, to know that he was not insensible to him. He could withstand just about anything, but he could not stand being ignored.

Q let the silence drag out for a few moments more as he contemplated Bond. When he finally spoke, his words were soft and evenly measured, “Tonight, you will be on your knees, I think.”

At those words, Bond felt the stress and tension ease from his shoulders even as heat started to pool in his cock.

Q tilted his head as he continued to look at him. “All night,” he added, eyes widening a fraction at the sight of Bond’s impertinent smile. The dark brows were still exaggeratedly high on his forehead, tilted at an alarming angle that was ample warning for Bond not to be complacent as he was still waist-deep in serious shit.

Bond could not help his smile widening.

They’d not seen each other for two weeks. Tonight, he would be on his knees for Q, completely at his mercy. There would be plenty of opportunities for rewards, perhaps, or more punishment, depending on how he played his cards. Maybe if he begged and was properly penitent, there would almost certainly be vigorous, angry sex, with Q’s hard hands in his hair, on his body, and more from that lush mouth— hot, filthy kisses and rough words of love.

“Looking forward to it, darling,” Bond growled.

“Good,” said Q, his brows finally going down to somewhere near normal levels. “Now shut up and let me work, please.”


End file.
